Chain Links
by Nightwitch87
Summary: "She wants to come out with some witty line, something half-joke half-sincere about his silence, and it would be so natural to do that to break the awkwardness." Disclaimer: I don't have any rights to Law and Order: SVU and I am not making any profit.


8

_For Carly. _

**Chain Links**

She's glad to see that he is wearing jeans and a regular T-shirt. No sweats, no hoodie. That would have made this far worse.

"Liv." It's a one-word statement, not a greeting, a factual observation as he opens the door like "rain" or "warm". He just stares, his body a rigid presence in the frame.

"Hey." She wants to come out with some witty line, something half-joke half-sincere about his silence, and it would be so natural to do that to break the awkwardness. But she doesn't feel like it. She has felt like yelling at him, but now that he's standing there and she's standing here and there is no door between them, and she can see his breath in the cold air, things are different.

"Can I come in?"

She half expects him to give some lame excuse about how he's busy or he has to go pick up Eli, but none of that. "Sure." He steps aside and leads her to the living room, which is caught somewhere between messy and organized and bears unmistakable signs of being "lived in". Now the centre of this life is silent, and it makes their silence more pronounced.

He moves over to the blinds and fiddles around with the cords, changing their orientation so more sunlight hits them, yet eventually changing it back so it's almost the same as it was to begin with.

"How are you?" she asks politely.

"I'm fine."

"And Kathy and the kids?"

"Fine too." So much for friendly conversation. He hesitates before turning towards her. "I'm not coming back, Liv." For a split second, he looks almost relieved to have said it.

"I know." She does, and still her words come out far too breathy. It is exactly what she expected, and yet hearing it from him is harder. Now he is here, not lost as if dead, and she could drag his ass back to the precinct to make him take back his goddamn box of stuff. He looks the same as always, but nothing will ever be the same again. The finality of his tone is piercing, and she can see now how stupid it was to come here. It won't do either of them any good.

Something in his expression falters, and he moves a step closer. "I'm sorry I haven't returned your-"

"Don't do that." She raises one hand to silence him. He isn't sorry he hasn't called, or he would have. He's sorry he has to stand here now and be the guy who didn't call. "It's been three months."

"I needed ti-"

"You should have-"

"I needed to get away-"

"El-"

"It's been hard-"

"Oh really?"

"We both knew this day wou-"

"Elliot-"

"I don't owe you an-"

"Like hell you don't. Thirteen years, El!" and she's yelling just a bit now. "Thirteen years, and you walk out without bothering to tell anyone!"

"What difference does it make?" His jaw is locked now and he is matching her in volume. "Gone is gone."

"It would have been the decent thing to do! All this chaos, and you just disappear?"

"I had to."

"It was hard for all of us, but you don't walk out just like that!" She's aware that she is repeating herself. "You talk to people, you take a leave of absence, you think things over. You don't just hand in your papers when no one's looking."

"No, _you_ don't hand in your papers! I had to."

"That's not the point!" How can his thick head not process what she's saying?

"You know it is! You're angry because I left first! I've done what you're not able to do, even though the job's eating you up just as much. And now you're mad because you thought I'd stick it out with you."

"You're unbelievable." Typical, he has to turn this all on her, because nothing's ever wrong with him. And so, he points his finger at her and shouts. She could throw something at him right now. He has no right to be so angry. He walked out on them, on her, not the other way around, and how messed up is it to turn her staying into some sort of accusation. "Look, if you can't handle it anymore, that's your business, but to disappear out of the blue without-"

"I couldn't-"

"-so much as a word…"

"Olivia-"

"I think you were making an impulsive-"

"I can't stay just for you!" He blurts it out and it stuns both of them. She is physically out of breath.

The words are another smack, embarrassing, awkward and disappointing. Disappointing? They shouldn't be. It shouldn't feel like this to hear it. He's partly right, and she hates that he is. Of course she had hoped they'd stay partners for an indefinite time. Of course she knew better. And yes, of course, she can't walk away, so why should he. But that is the difference between them, isn't it? "_You and this job are about the only things I've got anymore." _It isn't true, not for _him_.As she looks around his living room, she sees the traces of family, the toy cars in the corner, the squished up blanket on the sofa, the photographs on the chest of drawers. They are photographs of kids of various ages, of Elliot, of Kathy, with one including her thrown into the mixture. She's on his chest of drawers. It has always been there, in the background, but never before has he chosen his living room over his job. And again, she feels like an idiot for expecting that to continue, for making assumptions that aren't her place to make. He was meant to stick it out with her, not to suddenly change his mind and run. Not after all this time, not after she could always count on him to be there.

"Don't flatter yourself." He likes it, doesn't he, the idea that she needs him there, that the world needs Elliot Stabler to function. It is he who needs things to be that way. She's far from helpless without him, and she certainly isn't going to act like she just got dumped. She can be on her own; she has been on her own for most of her life. Except for Elliot, and maybe it was a mistake to let things get this close, to let one person and only one person get so important. The stakes are too high. She has been at this point before, but there is a clear difference between walking out and being left behind. Just like there is a difference between losing a colleague and losing a friend, or losing a friend and losing a partner. These things have grown too interwoven. So now, there is no role for her in his life anymore, just like that, because the parameters that have defined it are gone.

"I…" He crosses his arms. "I want to, but I can't."

"I'm not expecting anything" she says, exasperated. "I just want to understand why now." 'Liar' a small part of her shouts. She understands it, completely. She knows how his brain works, every little movement. She knows him so well. But she hadn't anticipated this.

"I shot that kid" he states blankly. "I shot her."

The memory leaps out at her once more, but she quickly stuffs it back into that overflowing drawer of ugly things. She knows how it gnaws at him that he caused her death, how the images of the girl dying in his arms probably come back to him –at night, in the shower, while he's driving- and she knows that he wouldn't want to let this slip in a psych evaluation or seek support. She could say that it wasn't his fault, that he only took a shot when he didn't have another choice, that he was trying to protect everyone else, that he could clear his name again. But she knows that it wouldn't make a difference and that he will carry this with him forever. She would, too. She will. And yet, as she sees his look and hears the emptiness in his voice, she wants to make it all better. They can't fix the world, but why can't she at least fix this one thing? Just this once. She could say that he's not alone and that this doesn't mean he has to leave. She doesn't. Instead, she nods at the undeniable truth and waits for him to talk.

"She was just a kid."

"An armed kid on a killing spree. She shot Sister Peg."

"Only because we failed her."

"Yeah." She knows it's true but somehow, it doesn't get to her as much as she knows it should, as it has in the past. Even Sister Peg's death is distant, like something sad that she has seen on the news. Maybe it's a sign that she has gotten too used to it all. If it stops being horrible, you stop, don't you? Still, she knows they have both had terrible things happening to them at work in the past, and she knows there's more to this business than this one case. It irritates her, because she can't call him on it. You don't challenge the "I shot a victim" explanation.

"She's one more and it never ends." Elliot breaks the silence. He mumbles it more to himself than to her, his mind clearly somewhere that isn't here. "By the time you catch one perp, that guy has ruined dozens of lives. Things never change. And then you get IAB taking issue with how you're doing your job. I'm done."

She nods. It's half comforting to hear this, to know that she isn't alone in feeling this way. That maybe trying isn't enough. That maybe it's a lose-lose situation. But you have to try, because without that, what's left? She won't say 'I'm done', because where will that leave the victims? No, where will it leave her? Without warning, the loss washes over her again. It jumps out at her these days in deceptively harmless moments, a series of needle pins in familiar surroundings. She has actually changed coffee shops. She swallows. "You didn't say anything."

He snaps out of his reverie, his eyes losing their glazed look. "I didn't want to discuss it, Liv. I wanted out."

"I get it." Of course she does.

"And I went home that day, and Eli showed me a drawing he'd made, and it's just…not worth the risk anymore."

"Yeah." Really? Now he decides it's the time for family, with four out of five kids grown up? She shouldn't think like that. It's only right. Their situations are entirely different, except that they have always shared an understanding about why the job is so important, the kinds of sacrifices you make for it. It seems she was wrong about that. But how can she resent that? By any kind of reasonable standard, it's the right decision to make. She wants him to be happy. She wants his family to work. This is a good thing if he's happy. If.

"I'm sorry."

"You should have told me. It should have come from you." She is not yelling this time, but she can't keep the accusation out of her voice. She doesn't want him to be sorry, or to give her an explanation. She thought that was what she had come for, but now that she is here, she doesn't want to hear it. She gets it; she already understands everything, but that doesn't change a thing. Now that she has an explanation of sorts, it is strangely dissatisfying. It doesn't fix things, not between them, not for her. It doesn't fill the void. It doesn't make her feel less let down. She doesn't need to understand. She needs him to understand.

"I know."

"You could have talked to me, or at least come to see me when you'd made up your mind if you were worried I was going to talk you out of it."

"No, I couldn't."

She hates when people say 'I can't', 'I can't go to court', 'I can't tell you', 'I can't get him in trouble', 'I can't live like this', 'I can't talk', 'I can't be with you like this'. There's a difference between 'I can't' and 'I won't because it would be difficult'. She shakes her head. "Okay then."

"Because then I couldn't have left." He adds it off-hand like a footnote. He isn't looking at her anymore, distracted by a fly trapped between the blinds and the window, buzzing. But she notices how tense his muscles are, how his eyes seem a little too moist. Strange. If there was one thing she had promised herself before coming here, it was that she was not, under any circumstances, going to cry in front of him, here in his house. Now it isn't her, and that's almost harder.

She circles the table and stands next to him, shoulder to shoulder, looking at the fly without really seeing it. "It's all right." It's not, really, but maybe it's a little less catastrophic. Maybe he really couldn't face it. Maybe it doesn't matter so much. She waits for him, and without looking, she can sense his posture shift next to her. Thirteen years experience.

"So how are you doing?"

And, without thinking, she knows why he is asking and what the answer she needs to give is, for both their sakes, and her voice is steady as she gives it. "Fine. I'll be just fine."

He turns his head, and she sees concern but at the same time, a desire to believe it. "Are you?"

She shrugs. "Would you be?"

"No." He doesn't even pause to think about it.

They look at each other for a moment. It strikes her how much older he looks now than he did years ago. Less hair, more lines. She hasn't ever really thought about it before, but it's strange how these changes creep up on you when you see someone every day. It's not a bad look, but different. She has changed, too.

"It'll be okay" she finally says, averting her gaze. Through the blinds, she can see some kids playing soccer outside in the sunny cold. She doesn't get much of that in her neighbourhood. Things are different over here. They watch as one of the older boys half skids to get at the ball, inevitably scraping his leg. "Calvin called" she quietly confesses.

"He did?" She can feel his eyes on her now, hear the surprise in his voice. "I didn't know you were-"

"We haven't been talking. He called, once."

"When?"

"Yesterday. I think he's in trouble." She wasn't sure whether to mention it, but it feels natural now. There isn't anyone else to tell.

"What kind of trouble?"

"He didn't say. I've been going over the conversation in my mind - no real hints. But his grandfather is very sick and the grandmother has to care for him."

"Tough situation." He pauses. "Did you talk to them?" She doesn't like the critical tone of the question.

"No. But with everything that's been going on, he obviously didn't want to worry them. Still, there's something else."

"Liv" he sighs.

"What?" It comes out more sharply than intended.

"Are you sure you didn't just hear what you wanted to hear?"

"What's that supposed to mean? Because I didn't want him to leave, I want him to be doing badly there?"

"No, just that maybe you wanna help. You wanna be involved, and you're jumping to conclusions. You're gonna try and rescue him again but maybe he doesn't need it this time."

"That's bullshit." The same old bullshit, too. She hasn't forgotten his comment about "playing mom". He has always pinned this whole thing on her wishes and needs, as if she had asked for Calvin to turn up in her life complete with a junkie mother and a father in prison. Elliot's reaction now is not at all surprising. Perhaps she shouldn't have told him. Then again, sometimes, his skepticism helps her realize if she is right or not. It's a compass.

"You don't even know that there is a problem."

"I do. He wouldn't have called like this for no reason, not after all this time." She wants to say that she heard it in his voice, but that doesn't sound very convincing.

"If his grandpa's sick, obviously he's gonna be scared of losing him."

"It wasn't just that. There was…something else."

"And what if there is? It's not your responsibility anymore."

She looks at him, and she can't quite believe the conviction written in his face. He would be the last person to think that you can absolve yourself from all responsibility by claiming it wasn't your job to do anything about it. But he wants things to be clear-cut here. Your kid, not your kid. "It doesn't matter, El. He's had it tough; I don't want him to go off the rails."

He raises his hands in a defensive gesture. "All I'm saying is give them a chance to deal with it as a family."

"Family", the sacred word to him, the biological ties, the blood linkage. The holiness of the word tastes bitter in her mouth. He could cut all cords in an instant, except for family. Family, not family. Your responsibility, not your responsibility. Apparently, things are just that simple. But Calvin is different. He has been let down by family before, and she understands that. Now his grandfather may be dying, Vivian may want him back any day, there is no certainty in his life. And she knows she's biased, she knows she is too closely involved to be a judge of what's right and she overidentifies, but the only factor that matters here is that he's okay.

"I would, except that he called me" she replies. "I can't ignore that. I have to check out what's going on."

He shrugs. "Your call. I just don't think you should jump that on him and if something's wrong, the grandparents should know."

She nods, watching the boys outside pick up their ball and head off. He is right about the grandparents, although it is not a conversation she is looking forward to.

"You know they can take action against you if you interfere."

"I know." It doesn't matter. Once upon a time, it would have.

"It's gonna be hard" he adds quietly.

"Yeah." But it already is hard. Whatever he may think, clean breaks aren't always easier.

"I…" he trails off, closing his mouth again slowly.

The phrase that was to come lingers unfinished. Maybe he wants to object again, maybe he wants to agree, maybe he's sorry about this situation, maybe it's nothing to do with this at all. She doesn't want him to finish the unnecessary sentence. "So what are you gonna do now?" she asks more lightly.

"Oh." He rubs his neck, smiling slightly. "I got a teaching gig at the academy. It's not full-time but for now, it's not so bad. Pays some of the bills."

"You're a teacher?" She can't help smirking. True, he could convince, even inspire, but aren't teachers usually the patient, hold-your-hand type?

"Surprised? I'm a role model for future generations."

"Professor Stabler, huh. Lucky them." She wants to be glad he has found something else. She can tell he wants her to be glad, too. She is, really, except that their lack of contact makes it seem so fast. The last time she saw him, they were partners. Now he is on to something else. Is she?

He doesn't ask her about work, doesn't enquire after the others. She knows it would be too soon for both of them. He doesn't want to hear about the new detectives, about the daily life he knows so well, and she doesn't want to have to tell him about any of it. They have to find a new common ground, something else to talk about, and even though they have never only talked about work, it was the thing that connected them against "the others" who weren't or hadn't been inside this job for as long. It's a strange new territory, not talking about it, almost as strange as interviewing a suspect and not having that counterpart to her style.

"I'm glad you came, Liv" he finally says gravely.

"Me too." Right back at you. She can't stay now or she will get sentimental. "I should probably head off though."

He walks her to the door in silence. There is nothing else to be said. Things are almost normal, until he hesitates with his hand on the door knob. "Hang on." He grabs his collar and pulls something out from underneath his T-shirt. It's a golden necklace with a medallion on it. She's too far away to make out the details, but she recognises it immediately. He pulls it over his head and dangles it in front of her, close enough for her to see the fine links in the smooth chain. "I want you to have this."

She's stunned. "That's from the Marines. I can't take that."

"Sure you can."

"No."

"Yes, Liv." His face is set, his resolution definitive. Arguing will be pointless.

"Are you sure?"

"Take it. Please." _Semper fidelis._ Always faithful.

She puts it on, careful not to entangle it in her hair. The chain is longer than that of her other necklaces and the medal rests more heavily against her. She can feel it against her clothes. "Thank you" she finally manages.

He smiles as he sees it on her, and she suddenly has an urge to give him something as well, anything of hers, but she doesn't have anything on her that would be appropriate. Thirteen years and she doesn't have anything to give. So she closes the distance between them and pulls him into a tight, wordless hug. It feels good to have him here, warm and breathing so close to her. And all the things she knows he is saying through the necklace, all the acknowledgement of their partnership, is something she tries to put into the hug as it rushes through her. And maybe she is breaking her promise to herself a little as her eyes begin to sting threateningly.

When she loosens her hold a little, he sort of pats her on the back awkwardly and they break apart, each stepping back. He clears his throat. "I'll call you."

She nods without looking at him. "Okay."

She doesn't know if he ever will. And as she walks down the steps away from his house, she isn't entirely sure that she wants him to.


End file.
